Hiya sweeties! I’ve been very busy, schoolwork, schoolwork and more schoolwork. (Read: SOMEBODY HELP! SOS)
Anyways, it took me forever to write this post, partly because I was so invested in reading this book called “Deep Work” by Cal Newport. I highly recommend it even though, I’m not done with it yet.
Today, I’d like to talk about something very dear to me: words. Since I can remember, I’ve always had this fascination with words. Words, words, words. They were my chemicals in a science lab. I could play around with them, not take myself seriously, take myself seriously, experiment with what works for me and what doesn’t and just generally hone the craft of writing.
Around last year, I finally got the courage to call myself an artist. A writer, a poet. It was a terrifying process, labelling myself. When you’re a writer, you see, you wish with every atom of your being to be called a writer and yet, you don’t actually call yourself one. Why? Because you’re not sure if your writing is even counted as valid or worthy enough for you to be called a writer. Fortunately, I got through that alive.
But today, suddenly a thought struck me: I call myself a writer but am I really living up to it? I had become a hack who never wrote but fell in love with word : “WRITER.” I realized that writing only when I want to scribble all over the notebook is not ever going to make my writing take off where I really want it to go.
I really believed I was doing something. But I’m not. Writing, right now, is something that I play with over the weekend. I don’t want that.
Writing is one of the things that calls to me. I wanna write and write and write until I’m drowning in my words, submerged in them to the complete point of no return.
After the realisation that I wasn’t really accomplishing anything, I had this ache to write. It didn’t even had to be a good piece. I just had to write. So I did. I painted out 500 words of a scene that I had in my head. And, I thought, this is what I want to do. I want this. Everyday, I want this. Just one hour of uninterrupted writing while Jazz plays in the background.
After this connection with my emotions, I felt like this is something that needs to be shared. I found a profound connection when other people my age were still struggling to explore the world.
As a young writer, I take it as my duty to be as honest and as prolific as possible. I hope that I can finally live up to the name I’ve given myself, a writer.
i’m so deeply in love with art (of any kind) that i’m wondering what it feels like to hate it. and then i realized i do hate art – mine.
i think every artist has the right to criticize their own art. it’s like that one song that makes you cry, and yet, you play it because you feel the beauty it holds in the pain.
sort of like that, you see the potential in your art and yet you hate it. you hope that your art changes others, impacts the world but at the same time, you just can’t help but hate it.
and lately, i’ve been creating and hating art more than i ever did.
maybe, i’m the only insane one who feels like this.
a. what other poets style do you emulate the most?
interesting question. the problem here is that i am not such a great poet as to compare myself to any other poets out there. but if i cast that very crucial piece of info aside, then, i guess atticus. his words are down forth tattoo-able. add a bit of nikita gill, rupi kaur, walt whitman, john green (I stole this from you, Udita) into the mix.
b. do you write with too much imagery or too little?
according to me, i incorporate imagery but i don’t really know. i don’t usually let others read my work.
c. write four poems in one day or go three weeks without writing anything?
depends on my mood really. can do both. but when i’m not writing poetry, i’m writing songs. so go figure.
d. do you have your poetry organized or are you more likely to write half a stanza on a one dollar bill and then spend it by accident?
ideas come knocking at the most unlikely times, like just when you are about to sleep. many a times, i have disrupted my sleep cycle to write down ideas that sounded mind-blowing at 3 am but were utter crap. i have a box of pieces of paper with ideas, so messily-organized is more my style?
e. bird imagery or ocean imagery?
ocean. the vast endless liquid velvet that falls off the end of the world? the part of yourself you never knew but always suspected was there? yes please.
f. what was the last poem that you loved?
your art
is not about how many people
like your work
your art
is about
if your heart likes your work
if your soul likes your work
it's about how honest you are with yourself
and you
must never
trade honesty
for relatability
- to all you young poets
rupi kaur
g. do you write about people or landscapes?
i write about change and evolution. whether the subject of the evolution is people or the landscape around them is never the question ’cause one can’t exist without the other.
h. dreams or real events?
dreams of real events. i dream my reality and then i bring my dreams to reality.
i. who do you write for?
i write for the universe.
why, you ask. (i know you didn’t ask. but for the sake of being a good sport, let’s pretend that you did)
i write because that’s all i know how to do.
j. what is the worst thing about your writing? what is the best?
the worst thing about my writing is that, it doesn’t make sense, even to me. and that is also the best thing about my writing.
k. what’s the best line you’ve ever written?
the truth? my heart’s still burning over you.
it’s not my best and i know i can write better but something about this line reminds me about the crazy, insane absolutely mad things you would do for something/someone you love. it’s not about the person or thing that you love, it’s about what lengths you would go to and this line captures that feeling.
l. how much do you edit a piece before you consider it complete?
if it’s not utter crap, it’s complete. if i have to edit it, then i never understood the complete extent of the idea, in the first place and am not the best person to try and convey the idea.
m. how long does it take you to write a poem?
well, usually poems are fully formed in my head and its my physical limitations that take time. so, if it’s a long piece and my best handwriting is used, about 2-3 hours, if it’s a short piece and my best handwriting is used, it ranges from seconds to minutes.
n. ghosts or angels?
i couldn’t resist turning it into a supernatural meme, sorry.
obvi, i love cas, sorry, i mean, angels.
o. god or sunlight?
it has been scientifically proven that vitamin d improves the style of poetry and makes it stronger. i don’t make the rules, sorry.
p. soft or harsh?
water. soft enough to comfort you and harsh enough to make you face your fears.
q. safety or happiness?
abraham maslow’s heirarchy of needs pyramid works on the principle that self actualization/happiness (which is the top of the pyramid) cannot be met without fulfilling the needs below it.
maslow’s hierarchy of needs
so, safety first, happiness, later.
r. how long have you been writing?
4th grade, 9 year old me wrote a poem about a fat cat. i don’t know if that counts. from, 6th grade, i’ve been writing serious, honest-to-myself poetry. haven’t stopped since then and i guess that is why i’m writing this today.
s. who is your favourite poet? you have to pick just one.
this is one of the hardest questions i have been asked. if i had to choose one, it would be john green, for sure and before you tell me he isn’t a poet, let me tell you, he is. an undiscovered one, sure, but a poet nonetheless.
and you tell me he isn’t a poet.
t. what is your favourite line of poetry?
“it takes getting everything you ever wanted and then losing it to know what true freedom is”
this is from the monologue of lana del rey’s song, ride.
u. would you be okay with never being well known?
the thing is, i would really like my words to be well known, whether i’m well known or not is not really relevant, at least to me.
v. slow or frantic?
i prefer slow but some things are meant to be frantic and i’ve made my peace with that.
w. what colour is your poetry?
the colour of magic, changing everyday, today, it’s silver.
x. who, if anyone, do you send your new poems to?
not who but what. my new poems, usually go in my diary that i maintain for poems, if they are very good, they also go in my art journal.
y. is your poetry light or dark?
usually honest and dark.
z. write a couplet (a short poem with just two lines) about pulse points.
my pulse skipped in fear
today, i'm not gonna run from my fears, today, my fears are gonna run from me.
When I think about you, babe, my head goes crazy with the thoughts.
I wonder how to stop myself from going insane. The answer is I can’t. I can’t stop myself from going insane.
That’s why I write. I write so much because I can’t stop thoughts. I write and write and write because the only way I can live the next moment is by writing.
Not because I like to.
Not because I want to.
But because I need to.
I need to write to stop myself from getting killed.
I need to write to survive.
I need to write to breathe.
Breathe from the thoughts of you that might kill me.
“I like writing,” is my not – so – honest answer to him.
Figuring It Out... 
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